


I'm Still Not Thinking Straight

by hollinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek gets a new tattoo, Drunk Sex, Kinda, M/M, Stiles is a flirty drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollinski/pseuds/hollinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek learns why Stiles doesn't drink, and thinks he should drink more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Still Not Thinking Straight

**Author's Note:**

> Yay smut!  
> Super short, but I have to edit it on an actual computer tomorrow. Damn my short attention span.

The lights were flashing and everyone was dancing to possibly the most obnoxious music ever, and Derek wanted to go home. Although, he knew Lydia would kill him if he left. It was Danny's birthday, and she and Erica had spent a good solid half-hour trying to get Derek into an impossibly tight pair of jeans, to which he absolutely declined. He instead was forced into a slightly-looser pair of dark jeans and a grey button up shirt that he has no memory of buying. Erica said the sleeves pushed up to his elbows made it "sexier," but Derek didn't entirely see how sleeves could turn someone on.

Not that he even wantedto turn someone on, because it's a fucking _strip club_.

He was there anyways, and he hadn't left his seat at the bar the entire time. He ordered a couple of beers and Erica convinced him to do one shot earlier in the night, but he wasn't too lightweight. He didn't really mind the bar much until some drunk man in a really tight tank top approached him.

"Hey hot stuff, you here with someone?" The man smiled, leaning against the bar. Derek raised an eyebrow suspisciously.

"Um, not really." The man's smile got wider and he reached out to stroke Derek's arm, which recieved a somewhat-dazed and confused look.

"Well, would you like to be?" 

Derek barely had time to stutter before Lydia appeared behind the man, moving between them.

"Sorry honey, he's not on the market." The man frowned and left as Lydia turned to Derek, a serious look on her face. "Okay, we need you to take Stiles home. He's a bit too tipsy to function properly and...well, you'll see." She grabbed him and led him to a platform with a large pole on it, and what Derek saw would forever be seared in his mind. Stiles was shirtless, laughing and hanging on the pole, swaying his hips to the loud music.

"Fuck." Derek shook his head. Lydia went up to retrieve Stiles from the platform, which was greeted with some resistance and a lot of stumbling. Stiles had one arm around Lydia's shoulder, and Derek could see glittery paint was drawn in stripes on his shirtless stomach. Lydia carefully passed the drunk man off to Derek, and he was careful as he led a giggling and totally wasted Stiles off to the Jeep.

About fifteen minutes later, Stiles opened up the door to the apartment, fumbling with his keys and giggling. He swung the door open, dramatically gesturing to the living room, and Derek ushered him in by his shoulders.  
"You're drunk, Stiles. You're going to have the worst hangover if you don't get some sleep."  
"I'm not that tired, though!" He hiccuped. "I still have lots of energy." Stiles wiggled his eyebrows and burst into laughter, holding onto the doorframe for support.  
He wasn't a very heavy drinker, and now Derek could see why. Derek himself had a little buzz going, but he was much more sober than Stiles. He was thankful to get out of there by taking Stiles home. He looked like he was one shot away from streaking down the block. Stiles had even said he wasn't going to drink. Apparently, plans change when you're surrounded by male strippers.  
"Stiles, I will force you into that bed if I have to, you need to rest." Derek immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Stiles' grin only got wider.  
"Ooh, will you force me?" He taunted, words slurring together. Stiles' walk was swaying like he was on the verge of falling over on his face. Derek grabbed his shoulder to steady him, but Stiles caught his wrist and pulled him closer.  
"Fine, you want me to go to bed? Let's go to bed." He smiled.  
Stiles came out to Derek about a year ago, and it only seemed fitting in the moment to tell Stiles about his bisexuality in return. They had never dwelled much on the thought of a relationship, but for some reason Allison, Erica, and Lydia keep suggesting the two get together.  
As Stiles leaned in to kiss Derek he suddenly thought girls may have a sixth sense about these things.  
Stiles guided him so they're walking towards the bedroom, but Derek's instinct kicked in and he moved to push Stiles up against the nearest wall, one arm above his head. Stiles' hands ran under the hem of his shirt, grabbing at his hips and tugging so their bodies were pressing into each other.  
Stiles moaned against Derek's mouth and it was the most amazing sound he'd ever heard.  
Something in him clicked and suddenly Derek needed this, more than anything he knew how to handle. He'd thought of Stiles like that, in a _just-curious-what-you-would-taste-like kind of way_ , and Stiles had done his share of flirting, but it was all subtle and loose and they were never serious.  
But the way Stiles' leg curled around Derek's waist made him want to throw the younger man into bed and completely undo him.  
The alcohol was starting to make everything a little more detailed, and Derek remembered his pants dropping to his ankles at some point.  
Stiles lured him into his bedroom later, and Derek was pushed back onto the bed, watching Stiles practically rip his clothes off. And Derek wasn't nearly as drunk as Stiles, but drunk enough to where the key points stuck out in his memory while everything else remained a blur.  
He did remember most of it. He remembered what Stiles' mouth felt like on his cock, hot and wet and flexible and everything he'd imagined and then some.  
He remembered how Stiles looked stretching himself out, how his brown eyes were half-closed in pleasure as his fingers worked. He remembered vividly how Stiles' throat tasted when Derek's tongue travelled over every inch, and how Stiles looked riding him, like it was his job.  
He remembered coming harder than he'd ever dreamed he would and falling asleep next to one of the most amazing people he'd ever known.  
However, he regretted drinking any amount of alcohol when the sun leaked through the blinds of dusty windows the next morning and a skull-splitting hangover ripped through his head.  
Derek sat up, trying to bring his stiff muscles back to life, when he noticed the bed he was in wasn't his own. The sheets were grey, made of paper thin and soft material. The walls of the bedroom were a fading white, too dull to be a newly painted wall. Sometimes Derek forgot that Stiles' apartment wasn't the classiest. Minimalist posters of Marvel comics hung on the walls, and that was about it for the decoration of the room.  
He noticed it was just him in the bed, so he collapsed back into the sheets. Turning over, he felt something wrinkle underneath him. He lifted up the sheets to find a small, crumpled note.  
 _If you want me, you can have me. Call me when you wake up._  
 _-Stiles_  
Fuck. Derek had to actually talk to Stiles about it.  
Of course he wanted him. Was that even a question? Derek knew it wasn't any normal drunk fling, the way he had felt, about needing Stiles so intently. But he had absolutely no idea if Stiles felt anything remotely close to that. After finding his phone in the tangled sheets, he took a while to think about what he would say before deciding to send a text. He was too hungover to deal with noises.  
Derek took a small breath and typed.  
 _-Of course I want you._  
Send. Okay, now to wait for the reply.  
Upon noticing the complete absence of clothing, which hadn't taken long, Derek decided to inspect the damage. He lifted up the sheets, scanning his body -  
Okay, what the _fuck_.  
In bold, black Sharpie, an arrow was drawn sloppily over Derek's groin, with scribbly letters saying "Stiles was Here" above it.  
Derek hasn't decided whether to laugh or groan when the phone buzzes. Even that small noise upsets his brain, and he's glad he decided not to call Stiles.  
 _-You want some coffee? I'm at the cafe by Speedy's._  
Okay, so it could be worse.


End file.
